Leaving the Birdhouse
by Arkylie Killingstad
Summary: Teenage Harold Finch stumbled across an anomaly, the effects of which he's just coming to grips with as he talks to his dad… who can no longer perceive him.


_A flashback that is a tie-in to_ Unseen Things _. Update about that fic at the bottom of this one. Consider this canon to that story._

 _I'm not sure if I want to call this a transcript; I wrote the script, my favorite podfic artist recorded the audio for it, and this is the first public written version, but it's still my writing, and the written version existed first. You can find the audio version on AO3 under the same title; as expected, she does a great job with the emotion of it._

* * *

I know you can't hear me anymore, Dad. And, um… I'm pretty sure, by this point, that you're never gonna be able to hear me again.

I-I don't even know what I did. What happened to me. I've been trying to… to reason it out. I mean, I'm not a _ghost_. I can touch things; I can move things. People notice me, they talk to me. Just… not everyone. Not anyone I know. Not… not anyone who used to know _me_. I can stand right in front of them—just like this—and they ignore me… just as thoroughly as you are.

God, Dad, I'm a— I'm afraid to… to even reach out and touch your arm. I'm… not sure what would happen if I did.

And it can't be a parallel universe, because all my stuff was still up there in my room. All the evidence that I belong here. The computer I built, the… the photo you took when I won the track meet… that ridiculous birdhouse that I made for you in second grade, that's still up in the backyard, right outside your bedroom window. I saw you putting seed in it this morning, so at least you still remember that.

This is my home, and yet…

I heard you talking with Avery, Dad. Talking about how hard it's been to work the farm by yourself, all these years. How useful it might be to have a kid, someday—someone to help you out, take care of you when you get old. Laughing at the idea of you trying to be a father.

You were such a good father to me, Dad. And you'll never even know.

That place I went… I got so lost in there. And it's done something to my mind. I can see things that I couldn't see before. I can _understand_ things. Mrs. Gladstone isn't human, did you know that? Nobody seems to know that; she hides it well. I don't think she's a threat, though.

I wonder if _I'm_ still human. I _have_ to be, right? Only… I don't know why I can look at a switch or a button and know exactly what it's for. What will happen if I press or toggle it. That light that burned out in the kitchen? I knew it was going to do that. Right before you touched it, I _knew_.

And there's something else I learned in there. Something that I wish I didn't know. That's why I have to leave you, Dad.

There are people who hunt people like me. People who've… had weird things happen to them. People with powers that humans shouldn't have. They hunt them, and they capture them, and they lock them up in their labs and experiment on them, and I'm absolutely terrified that they're going to find me and do that to me and I don't know what to do except _run_ , Dad. Run away before they can find me, and keep on running until I figure out how to hide.

I'm going to leave, so they don't come and find _you_. They're not nice people, Dad. They're sorta trying to protect people— _most_ people—trying to protect the world, but the things they do… they're not nice people, and I want to keep them as far away from you as I can.

…This is the last time I'm ever going to watch you eat, isn't it? You're going to finish your pot roast, and head on upstairs for a shower and I'm going to…

I've already taken out all of my stuff. All of the baseball gear, and the clothes that you can't wear… I'm gonna drop that stuff off at the thrift shop. I burned all the photos I could find. Guess I'll keep the computer; that's more personal, more… trackable. Besides, you never went near it, did you? You only cared about it because you cared about me.

There won't be anything left of me here. Nothing for them to track down—no obvious evidence of a son who doesn't exist to you now. I'm erasing the rest of my life so the remnants can't make anything worse.

And after that… I've got to go, Dad. Very soon.

I… I wish I could say that I… that I'll make you… proud. But I guess that's never going to happen, now, is it? I know that you used to be proud of me. Even if you've forgotten that.

Remember when I was seven and I found the loose wire inside that radio that you couldn't fix? Remember how you went to bat for me when the school tried to make me read _The Wizard of Oz_ when I was already enjoying the _Skylark_ series and starting on Asimov? Remember how you started talking about college b-before my voice even dropped?

You sold your Crosley to start my college fund. Used to tell me how much Mom loved that car. But you sold it because you wanted a better life for me. Do you remember, Dad? Had your eyes set on Harvard or MIT. You never doubted that I was worth it.

…Guess I should take this. I'm gonna need it. Gotta get as far from here as I can. Feels a bit like stealing from you, because you… you won't even know why it's gone. Even though you meant it for me.

I'm gonna go now, Dad. And I'm never gonna see you again.

But I…

I'll never forget you.

* * *

 _For those who are waiting on_ Unseen Things _: I'm so sorry for the delay, but I had a combination of severe writer's block and some other issues that got in the way until December, at which point I paused to write some gift fics (over on AO3, most of them likely to migrate here eventually), then had writer's block with those as well (sigh), and I'm still struggling my way through those before I get back to_ Unseen Things _, which is really close to a major climax._

 _For those who care about my overall body of work: After_ Unseen Things _updates to at least the cliffhanger, expect the following updates over here (sporadically, but likely prior to July):_ Nippitaty _,_ Numb Too Long _,_ The Icy Hearts of Old Friends _, and some family-friendly one-shots._


End file.
